What was never said
by 7784
Summary: You will not find my name in this report. I am not a Holmesian fan and this is not a regular Sherlockian pastiche. It is just THE Holmes story. I would never publish it under my name – it is only for the sake of truth that I am doing it this way.
1. Prologue

1987

You will not find my name in this report. I am not a Holmesian fan and this is not a regular Sherlockian pastiche. It is just THE Holmes story. I would never publish it under my name – it is only for the sake of truth that I am doing it this way.

My dad always smiled enigmaticly when somebody talked about his late father, John H. Watson, and his stories. Retired, he often accepted the invitations of different Holmes societies, gave interviews about his father and the famous detective and so on. He really liked it. I despised it and I was surprised that he kept doing it. I knew him to not to be pretentious or snobbish, he always told me that we have to work hard to be successful and he did so as well; so I could not understand why he liked to profite of his father´s glory. Once I asked him.

„For the fun of it," he said.

„Do you find it funny?"¨

„Yes, very much. And I am looking for somebody too. You will understand it one day. In the meantime, please be indulgent to your old father´s foibles."

Now he is dead. I can´t cry for him. He was 84, he had a long rich adventurous life as an army officer and he spent his winter years with Holmesian fans telling stories about his father and listening to the dissections of his books. He did it „for the fun of it", as he told me. I never understood why the others are doing it. I miss him, anyway. He lived with me for the last 10 years and he was ... well, simply my father – I definitely didn´t inherit any literary skills.

There were a lot of people at the funeral, I didn´t know many of them at all – the Holmesians, no doubt. Some of them were wearing that impossible cap – the deerstalker. Surely they must be crazy.

That young man was dressed very properly. No small talk, he just came to me and gave me the box.

„Your father asked me to give you these, to be sure that you will not just throw it out with the other papers."

He said goodbye and disappeared before I could ask any question.

It was a very hard day. I put the box in my bedroom and completely forgot about it. About a month later, I saw this young man again. In a music shop; I went there to buy a present for my son. The choice was rather difficult, I haven´t see him for a long time. The man´s face was on a cassette cover – Colin McNicol, a violinist. I put it into the cassette player in the shop. I am not an expert, but I liked it. I bought it. Home I started to look for that damned box. I felt I have to look at these papers at least. The housekeeper put it on the cabinet. I took the box to my study and opened it. It was heavy and full of old papers, as I supposed. On the top there was a sheet of my father´s handwriting. It ran:

_Dear Peter,_

_I know that you always disliked all the humbug about your grandfather´s stories. You are a man of science, of precise mind, and you felt very well all these gaps and holes in your grandfather´s recits. You also disapproved my dealing with the people who like his stories. I told you once it was for the fun of it. You will perhaps understand it if you will read the papers below. I said you too that I am looking for someone. These people did a lot of work for me, even if they know nothing about it. Well, I found this person at least. It is the man who gave you the box. _

_Peter, my boy, there were things I should tell you about, but I could not. First I thought you too young so I didn´t wish to disturb you and suddenly you were a grown man and I didn´t dare to do it. After all, you were the only son I´ve ever had, and I didn´t want to lose you. You´ll find in this box an old manuscript – my father´s and at the end of it, there are a few pages I wrote to finish the story. I want you to read it as it lays before you - start from the very beginning, don´t peep at the end. Kindly do it for you and for your father, who did a lot of mistakes, but always loved you._

The old manuscript was composed of a pile of sheets in a big crumped envelope. I opened it and started from the very beginning, as my dad requested.


	2. Chapter One

Summer 1935

Dear Jamie,

You teased me with your questions since you came back for that summer holidays . You were 12, and your classmate lended you one of my books. You easily discovered that even if the characters are real, it is a fiction, and asked me why I lied about my friend´s and my life. I told you that it is not a lie, that I only omitted some facts for the sake of discretion, and refused further explanation. You told Scott, but neither he nor you didn´t find out anything more. I remember you two presented me a list of contradictions and errors in names, facts, datation and so on, and he asked me (and I was hearing clearly his father´s tone in his voice), if it is not better for me to write the truth, as I am so bad a lier.

I thought the matter closed, but as I am getting older, the true story is haunting me more and more. My friends are dead now, so no harm can be done to them. You and Scott are alive and your memories of us (I am 81 and still sane enough to understand that I am not here forever) will be partly formed by my former recits about our adventures and so no doubt deformed. That is why I decided to write down the true story for you, Scott, and those who will come. You are a big boy now, so I leave to you what´s to become of it.

Thanks to these books, Conan Doyle and I earned a lot of money and my friend´s name became famous. I depicted an aloof, strange man, a „brain with appendixes", living alone, but not feeling lonely, in Baker Street, and me as his lifelong friend. I heard, and that is one of the most important reasons for me to exerce myself in putting this story on the paper and torturing my old brain with memories, that some people suppose us to be more than friends ... they call it a homosexual relation. I almost hear her laugh at my uneasiness about this word. Do never think there was something like this between us. If I was in love with Holmes, it was not with Sherlock, but with Violet.

So, the true story of my relations with the Holmes family.

I met Sherlock Holmes in the laboratory at the Barts, and I became his fellow-lodger, as I described in Study in Scarlet. His description there is also quite precise: he was tall, thin, clear shaven, with sallow complexion, black glossy hair, hawk-like nose and those great grey eyes. Not a handsome man, as far as I can judge it. As to his habits, he was really smoking that terrible shag tobacco, playing his violin in the most inconvenient hours, was the most untidy person I´ve ever known with the special gift to encumber every place with piles of books and papers and chemicals (you surely remembrer that) and he had these occasional fits of feverish activity alternated by days of total laziness. Sometimes he remembered me of a sleuth-hound, as I wrote, sometimes, especially in these periods of torpor, he looked like a big gaunt gray lazy cat. As to his knowledge, I must say that the solar system question was his favourite joke. I never understood why, but it was so and he tried it upon several people.

I started to write about his adventures because I exceedingly admired him and his work, but also because I was really an late army surgeon with half pay and nothing to do. I showed two or three stories to an acquitance of mine, Artur Conan Doyle, M.D. He was a writer himself, he liked the stories and he became my agent. Holmes despised this bussiness; he didn´t prohibit me to publish the stories, but he always asked me to change a few particulars for the sake of discretion. So our quarters weren´t at 221B Baker Street (a wise decision – otherwise the house would be invaded every day by the fans; I couldn´t believe the stories were becoming so popular), Lestrade was not Lestrade and so on. In some cases I changed the name of our client, sometimes I didn´t specify the year, sometimes I had to alternate a bit the data. Holmes always thougt that it was no use to write about his cases this way, but he acknowledged at least that I made his name famous and it brought him a lot of interesting cases.

I really married Mary Morstan in 1888, Holmes really disappeared in Reichenach Falls in 1891 and caused a serious shock to me in 1894, when he appeared in my rooms in that shabby disguise (I really fainted then – many years later, he told me he was really frightened).

I said there was nothing improper in the relation between us. I could not understand for a long time why he was discussing his cases with me and why he was often asking me to work with him. I suppose I am clever enough but in comparison with him I was terribly slow and blind. In our later years I concluded that smart and brisk, self-conceit and independant as he was, he still missed something, deep in his heart, too deep to acknowledge it, too deep to even fully realise it himself. I don´t know why, but I was able to saturate this need, at least partially, so he sticked to me.

I am writing this old story for you, my son, to help you understand, and I´ve decided to be absolutely sincere and open. I don´t want to conceal nothing. If I do, it will be no use to continue. You are a grown man now, so you will understand me, my hesitations and my doubts. You will understand also the complexity of our relation. I hope so at least.

After his return, Holmes sticked to me very much. My Mary was dead, as well as our baby-boy, and I had no reason to continue my practice. Holmes asked me to sell it and to move back to our old lodgings. The three following years we were always together. I observed that he gave up the cocaine, but there was still the mental habit, the need, that empty place in him. I can say that he was no more addicted neither to cocaine nor to any other drug, but he was addicted to me. He was like a little child needing his mother – it was perhaps not so apparent, but it was real. I became anxious that such a close mental relation could easily be transformed in an other sort of close relation. To prevent it, I decided to find my own lodgings. I never gave him any explanation, and he never asked any.

I don´t want to say that Holmes had such tendencies, neither I had. But I observed several relations of this sort formed in my school years and in the army. It was almost the same story: two lonely boys or men (sometimes one of them was yet experienced in this area), close friendship, no loving parents or family, no one else to love and to feel safe with, then some crisis and ... We were both alone, close friends, nobody to love and to be loved by. I know you take me for the „normal one" and Holmes the „strange one". Most people did so. Let me tell you here that I had the same doubts about him as about myself those days.

I moved out, but I visited my friend very often and we worked as usual. Then, in October 1897, Violet Holmes appeared and changed totally our lives.


	3. Chapter Two

**Here it is - it took some time, but it sounds more English - thanks to QueenOfSpain.**

**To Hermione Holmes - Strange, I always thought Holmes the weaker of the Baker Street tenants. Somewhat fragile perhaps. Yes,he was more intelligent, energetic when on a case, but as to his cocain abuse, nocturnal violin playing, smoking 24/7, very limited social life etc., ... as if the life was too difficult for him in some aspects. Just my opinion.**

**Thanks to all who reviewed**.

I came to „Baker Street" early in the afternoon. It was a sad autumn day, it was raining heavily and the muddy streets were almost deserted. I expected to find Holmes in a rather depressed mood, as he was very sensitive to the weather changes. Mrs. Hudson let me in and ushered me to the room. At the first sight, I thought it was full of people, but it was an optical illusion. There were only three men, but all very agitated. One of them was pacing the room: it was a tall gentleman in black with grizzled hair and beard. The other one, very tall and fat, was staying with his back turned to the window and desperately waving his hands. I recognized him and realized that for him to be here, this must be a serious case. Sherlock Holmes was sitting in his favourite armchair in the shadow; I've never seen him look so angry and distressed. I was about to apologize and leave, when he called me back.

„Good afternoon, Watson, please stay here. You could be very useful. It surprises me that grown men can be so excited about a mere trifle."

I saw Mycroft Holmes open his mouth, but finally he decided to be silent and only nodded in my direction.

„You know my brother Mycroft, and this is our oldest brother, Sherrinford. Sherrinford, my friend, doctor Watson."

He waved me to the armchair.

Holmes had spoken very rarely about his family, childhood and youth. I knew Mycroft Holmes from the case of the Greek interpreter and that he has a lot in common with Sherlock, but I had never heard of Sherrinford.

He greeted me politely, but apparently he wasn't pleased at the idea of discussing their „trifle" in my presence:

„Sherlock, I am not sure..."

„Doctor Watson is the very soul of discretion," said Sherlock Holmes and continued: „I never told you about our father, Watson. He died a week ago. Kindly don´t say you are sorry, because I am not sorry about it myself. He treated us in a rather bizarre way and he continues doing it in his will. The estate comes to Sherrinford as well as the money, rightfully so. As for Mycroft and me, we are to get a peculiar heritage. Kindly read this paragraph aloud, Sherrinford."

The eldest brother produced several sheets of paper.

„My sons Mycroft and Sherlock decided to live in a fashion I cannot approve. I leave them their cousin, the daughter of my late brother Peter, Violet Holmes, to marry her and to take care of her for the rest of her life. The said Violet Holmes hasn´t got any means of living and depends entirely on the fulfillment of this will. I think that such a wife is better that any heritage I could leave to my younger sons."

It sounded like a bad joke. The serious faces of the Holmes brothers proved that this was not the case. I realized that Holmes surely had strong reasons to avoid his family for such a long time.

„Well, Sherrinford, uncle Peter was much younger then our father, so the girl must be a mere child. It is too soon for her to marry. She may very probably find another man far more appealing or chose not to marry at all. Why don´t you let her live where she is used to? Is it such a problem?"

„First of all, it is our father´s and her guardian's will. She is not a child, she is 2O now and I don´t want to have her at the Hall any more." He was becoming progressively more angry as he spoke. „I cannot stand her, my wife cannot stand her and we are happy to have the possibility to get rid of her. Her trunk is downstairs and my wife will escort her here in few minutes. Don´t try to send her back to Yorkshire, because I won´t take her back. I am sure she is very fit to marry one of you!"

It sounded like an offence. Sherlock Holmes sprang out of his chair. „You cannot..."

„Of course I can, brother mine, and I am happy I can," interrupted him Sherrinford, „the English law is on my side."

We heard the wheels of a cab pulling up in front of the house. He took his hat and was gone. Mycroft collapsed into Sherlock´s armchair.

„So for the rest of the family, Watson," said Sherlock Holmes dryly. „What are we to do with the girl?"

„The will could be a forgery," offered I.

The brothers looked at me.

„Good old Watson."

We heard a woman´s voice downstairs, discussing something with Mrs. Hudson.

„Perhaps," said I, „your young cousin will disapprove of your father´s intentions. There are plenty of things an educated young lady can do; she could become a governess, for example," I remembered my Mary. „She can be even engaged without the family knowing about it."

„It would be only too nice," sighed Sherlock Holmes.

„She will probably refrain to such intentions after meeting us; it is clear enough we are not the marrying sort," said his brother with a spark of hope in his voice.

„Don´t think us cruel to the young lady, Watson," said Holmes to me, „we've never seen her and we have even ignored her existence until today."

Mrs. Hudson interrupted us with a knock on the door.

„Miss Violet Holmes, Sir."

You remember Auntie Violet, of course. Well, almost forty years passed since that October afternoon, but she didn´t change much. Her frame was a miniature of Holmes: she was small and thin, with long limbs, and she looked like a child of 14 or so. Her hair, dark and glossy as Holmes´s and arranged in two simple girlish plaits, reinforced the idea. She was clad in a plain black dress with narrow white collar. There was not much family resemblance in her face: she was very pale, had a high forehead, well defined dark brows and the same long prominent nose as her two cousins, but her face was broad (not a fat one like Mycroft´s - she had simply a big round head) and she had beautiful full lips and big blue eyes. I perceived a strange expression in them. Interesting face, but not a beauty, altogether. She carried a light walking stick.

Holmes came to greet her, he introduced us and ushered the young lady into the armchair. We all assumed our places.

„Do you mind if I smoke?" asked Holmes.

„Not at all," said she and he lit his oldest and foulest pipe. Not a man of the marrying sort indeed.

The Holmes brothers were silent for several minutes. I forced upon the young lady some small talk about her journey, London, and the weather. Finally Mycroft interrupted us:

„Well, Miss Holmes, you surely know your uncle´s will?"

She nodded.

„You are an educated lady, surely you have been thinking about your future," continued Sherlock in a slow paternal tone that I´ve never heard from him before. „This bereavement can be very sad for you, but it is also a possibility to start your own life. You can rely on our support and sympathy. Our late father thought you would be best secured by marrying one of us, but we fully understand that old bachelors like us might seem not a good match to you. You are a very beautiful and accomplished woman."

She was sitting on a chair, her gloved hands in her lap, just looking in front of her.

„I cannot see any other possibility for me in my peculiar situation." She almost whispered it, poor girl.

„Perhaps you would like to have some time to look around you and then decide for yourself," said Mycroft and I remarked that he pushed his belly forward, making himself even fatter. „Do not feel uneasy about us. We simply want to see you happy."

„Do you know..."

„There are many other possibilities than a marriage of convenience for such a lady," interrupted her Sherlock Holmes. „You could be a governess, a schoolmistress, a language tutor, anything you want. Don´t let you tie by your uncle´s well meant but perhaps misguided intentions. Well, let us here the address of your hotel and don´t hesitate to call upon us every time you will need our help."

He stood up and went to her to show her out. She was sitting, small black figure, so harmless. I started thinking about marrying her myself. It was not my Mary, but she was sweet and helpless and she needed the same care and protection. I thought so – just for one moment. Then she raised her head and spoke:

„Dear cousins, do you really suppose you can pronounce me half an angel and than treat me like a complete idiot?

I gasped. We all gasped.

„Kindly close your mouths," continued she. Her voice was a rich deep alto, very different from my friend´s high and somewhat strident tenor. The nonchalant tone was the same.

„Now let me answer you. I don´t consider myself as a thing to be left to somebody. I was an encumbrance to him, to cousin Sherrinford and now I am an encumbrance to you. That is the most painful thing for me. Your father could easily prevent it, but he didn´t. So one of you two, gentlemen, must marry me."

We stared at her in amazement. Sherlock Holmes came back to his senses the first.

„Dear cousin, let me say that I would never consider you as a „thing". You are a human being endowed with free will and we are treating you as such. You have right to choose your way, no matter what is written in this document." He patted the bundle of sheets of paper on his desk.

„Dear cousin, you simply want to get rid of me as soon as possible. This is only natural – if you want a wife, you will choose for yourself. But despite my being a human being endowed with free will and enough common sense to fully understand your intentions, I can´t see any other..."

„Why, you just aren´t habituated to this idea. You are free, you can do what you want," interrupted her Mycroft Holmes and moved closer to her. His brother did the same .

„I ..."

„Perhaps you don´t feel safe enough in this new situation," offered his brother, assuming his usual sardonic tone. „To be sincere with you, cousin Violet, we don´t think our father´s idea a good one. He didn´t know much about us. I am afraid we are rather set in our old bachelors ways and so not a good match for a young lady in any point. A marriage is a lifelong business, and neither of us feels able to make you reasonably happy. Your future is still open now, there is plenty of possibilities for you."

„I can´t see ..."

„There is nothing so deplorable and hopeless as an unhappy marriage. You are only twenty now - surely you will meet a man who will make a much better husband for you. Look, Dr. Watson´s wife was a governess for several years before they met."

Mycroft Holmes was abruptly interrupted.

„Would you be so kind as to let me finish my phrases?"

She was indeed a brave young lady, thought I, as I watched her facing the two tall, masterful and apparently dissatisfied men. I myself, as most people, was used to submitting to Sherlock Holmes. My friend didn´t meet with opposition frequently. He raised his eyebrow:

„We are listening."

„I am blind."

It was the second time in one half an hour we were shocked by this girl´s words. And silenced. She continued:

„It is a consequence of the brain fever I went through three years ago. The doctor says that it will be permanent. My father left me no money, neither did your father, and as I do not wish to spend the rest of my life in some charity establishment, I am afraid I must insist on the fulfillment of uncle´s will. Unless you know somebody who desperately needs a blind governess, or a blind schoolmistress," she added with a mocking smile.

There was a long silence, finally interrupted by my friend.

„Well ... are you sure it can´t be cured? Perhaps you should consult a specialist here, in London."

„So I did."

She seemed to be trustworthy and even reasonable enough. Both Mycroft and his brother were silent, obviously analyzing the data and searching for a solution. Quite a different sort of intellectual puzzle. Then they looked to each other.

„Eh ... so choose, Miss Holmes," breathed Mycroft Holmes.

„I´ll leave it to you, gentlemen." Her tone was mocking, no doubt, but weary as well. She didn´t like this situation, to be sure. I thought once more about marrying her. Perhaps it would be the best policy, considering my friend´s attitude to women. They usually annoyed him, sometimes exasperated him by their chatter and millions of petty problems and needs to attend, but he managed to remain gallant and suave to his female clients and Mrs. Hudson. But a wife? And after all, habituated to Holmes´s oddities, irregular habits and sardonic speech, I would be able to get on with his cousin very well. Some of these characteristics surely go in the family.

The two brothers didn´t say a word, only looked at each other. Then Sherlock Holmes spoke:

„Well, cousin Violet, will you do me the honor to accept me as a husband?"

„With pleasure, cousin – Sherlock?"

He nodded, but realizing quickly the situation, he said:

„Yes."


End file.
